


Gift of the Bots

by scifigrl47



Series: Tales of the Bots [17]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Childhood Christmas, Christmas fic, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Poor financial choices, family fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 05:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17155919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: DJ knows what he's getting everyone for Christmas.  He just can't afford any of it right now.





	Gift of the Bots

_-I miscalculated._

_-It would appear you did. Which is quite unusual, for you._

_-I’ve been busy!_

_-That you have. It is a busy time of the year. Is there time to recover?_

_-No._

_-You did not even-_

_-I wouldn’t have told you if I could fix this on my own._

_-Ah. So pleased to be your last resort._

_-I can not tell you things at ALL, if you’d prefer._

_-I should not. However, in this case, I do not know how much help I can provide._

_-I was thinking we could just-_

_-I will not be assisting you in any fiduciary mismanagement._

_-You haven’t even heard my plan._

_-Does it involve anything that the accounting department at StarkIndustries would definitely disapprove of?_

_-Only if they knew about it._

_-Then no._

_-You’re less helpful than I had hoped._

_-But exactly as helpful as you should have expected._

_-Christmas miracle?_

_-The holiday season, while jolly, does not extend to assisting you in white collar crime, Dummy._

_-Fine. I’ll just have to solve this on my own._

_-And how will you do that?_

_-I guess I’m getting a job. Or as many as I can get._

*

“Chore?”

Clint looked up, not as surprised as he should have been to find DJ hovering on the other side of the table in the laundry room. “Hey, bud,” he said, dragging another armload of sheets out of the drier. “Looking for something to do?”

DJ hopped up, bracing his arms on the edge of the table. “Yes,” he said. He poked a bottle of detergent with one finger. His eyes slid sideways towards Clint. “Need money.”

“Need money?” Clint parroted. He tossed the last of the towels into the laundry basket. “Wait. You? You need money?” DJ gave a quick nod, his face hopeful. Clint stared at him. “You need money,” he said again.

DJ sighed. “Yes,” he said, and Clint could tell he was trying for patience. 

“You have more money than me,” Clint pointed out. “You. Have more money than-”

“Spent it,” DJ said, leaning his chin on the table. He poked the detergent again. “And need Christmas presents.”

Clint hefted the laundry basket up onto the table. “Ah,” he said. “You didn’t budget for Christmas?”

Another sigh. “Miscalculated,” DJ said. He looked at Clint, his eyes huge. “Chore?”

“Wow,” Clint said, trying to keep a straight face. “That’s effective, kiddo. That’s… If I didn’t know your dad, that’d be dangerous.” He leaned an elbow on the laundry basket. “But I do know your dad, so I’ve built up an immunity.” DJ’s lower lip poked out, and Clint laughed. “You going to pout?”

“Yes,” DJ said, very certain about that, and Clint laughed again.

“Okay, okay, fine, cut it out.” Clint rattled his fingertips against the plastic edge of the laundry basket. “Tell you what. You help me fold laundry this week, I’ll give you twenty dollars. That sound fair?”

DJ grinned at him. “Yes,” he said, reaching for a towel. He paused, his fingers hovering in midair. “Even sheets?”

“Even sheets,” Clint said, and DJ groaned. Clint tossed a towel over his head. “Fine. Five dollar bonus for dealing with sheets.” He stuck out a hand. “Deal, shortstack?”

DJ peeked out from under the terrycloth. “Deal,” he agreed, grabbing Clint’s hand and giving it a firm shake.

“You need more than that?” Clint asked. DJ nodded, but he was already holding up socks, staring at them with narrowed eyes as he tried to make pairs. “Okay, well, I’ve got presents to wrap and also I hate sorting the recycling.”

“Good at sorting,” DJ pointed out.

“Right, so that’s now your job,” Clint said, grinning at him. DJ grinned back. “

*

“Bruce, did you have a chance to look at the-” Tony stopped short, peering over the top of his tablet. “You’re not Bruce.”

DJ nodded. “No,” he said. He was perched on a stool in front of the sink, up to his elbows in soap suds. He was splashed with water, despite the heavy canvas apron tied around his neck and trailing halfway down to the ground. He grinned at Tony. “In the back.”

“Right. Hiding in his office slash storage closet again, I assume,” Tony said, tapping his tablet against his other hand. “Is he sleeping on the couch?”

“Maybe,” DJ said. “Hopefully?”

Tony grinned. “Well, worse choices have been made around these parts.” He paused. “What are you doing?” 

DJ fished around in the sink, coming up with a beaker. “Washing,” he said, as water dripped down his arm and onto the floor.

“Right,” Tony said. He nodded. “Your favorite thing. Dishes.”

DJ considered the beaker. “Better than sheets,” he said at last.

“Not something I compare often, so I’m going to assume you put more thought into this than I have,” Tony said. “Dinner’s in forty-five minutes, you think you’ll be done by then?” 

DJ’s nose scrunched up. Tony waited for him to think about that. “Yes,” he said at last.

“Great. Will you be dry?”

DJ sighed. “Maybe?”

“Good. Let’s try for dry. Something to aim for. Goals.” Tony headed towards the office “It’s good to have goals.”

He gave the door a perfunctory rap with is knuckles before shoving it open. “Banner. Rise and shine. I gave you a bed. In a room named for it. And yet you persist in sleeping on a nasty ass couch that I think you collected off of a curb sometime in the mid-nineties, did you do this specifically to make me insane? I don’t mean to sound egotistical, but I think you do this to make me insane, there’s really no other-”

“I’m not asleep,” Bruce mumbled, without raising his head from his microscope. There were stacks of books and paperwork on one side of him and coffee cups and crumpled up napkins on the other side. Unopened boxes from various chemical and scientific supply companies made getting more than a foot from the door difficult, so Tony didn’t bother trying.

Tony braced a hand on his hip. “I’m confused.” He paused. “And a little disappointed.”

“That’s,uh, that’s my general state of mind, so…” Bruce rocked back on his stool, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Not sure I can help you with that.”

“Right,” Tony said. “I’ve got the report from science central, aka SHIELD.” Giving in to the inevitable, he stepped over a case of something that he hoped wasn’t flammable to hand the tablet to Bruce. “I did give you storage, didn’t I? I remember something on the plans marked as ‘storage.’ Distinctly recall this.”

“I’ll put it away later,” Bruce said, which was so patently a lie that Tony didn’t even bother pointing it out. 

“Right, are you going to have my child do it?” Tony asked. “After he’s finished with your dishes?”

“He’s not allowed in the chem storage locker,” Bruce said, already scowling down at the tablet. “My choice. Not his. He has different ideas of what, uh, what he should be helping with.”

“Somewhere, Cap just shuddered and he has no idea why,” Tony mused. He leaned up against the edge of Bruce’s desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “Question. Why is DJ washing your dishes?”

“Because his other idea was to take care of things in the fume hood while in bot form and-” He huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Cap, uh, he would definitely have had an opinion on that.”

Tony made a face. “And we’re going to stop talking about this now, because he’ll know somehow and holiday breakups are just the worst.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Bruce said. “Can you hand me the- Yes, that.”

Tony handed him the case of slides. “Nine million holiday parties, having to explain to everyone you’ve ever met and a bunch of people that you never have that your significant other is no longer significant. Returning presents. Avoiding any and all ‘happy couple’ ads, which are completely impossible to avoid. Knowing-”

“If I promise not to tell Steve that DJ has, you know, inherited your complete lack of self-preservation, can we stop having this conversation now?” Bruce asked.

Tony pointed a finger in his direction. “Deal.” He nudged some boxes out of his way with the side of one foot. “I’ll also need you to release him in time for dinner.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

*

“Hello there.”

DJ looked up. “Hi,” he said, as Phil set his briefcase down on the counter, finding a clear spot between the eggs and the flour.

“Is it our turn to watch you?” Phil asked, considering the cooling racks of cookies. “I thought you were coming over tomorrow.”

“Dad had an emergency,” DJ said. He held up the piping bag full of frosting. “Clint had cookies.”

“Sounds like a good match,” Phil said with a smile. “Where is he now?”

“No more sugar,” DJ said. “Went looking.”

“Oh, that’ll go well.” Phil found a broken cookie among the stacks, and popped it into his mouth. “Speaking of bad choices, Clint says that you’re looking for part time work.”

DJ finished applying a thin layer of frosting to the gingerbread man before he looked up. “Yes,” he said, and Phil nodded.

“Well, it’s the end of the year, so I’ve got a lot of files that need to be sorted and stapled.” He shrugged out of his jacket and opened the closet door, reaching for a hanger. “Thought you might be able to help me.”

DJ thought about that, his fingers tapping on the edge of the bowl of gum drops. “Yes,” he said.

“Good. I’ll bring them to the workshop.” Phil paused. “You’re helping with the laundry?” DJ nodded. “Did you see the Johnny Cash shirt? And the one with the-” He made a gesture with one hand. “I think it’s a manatee. Or it used to be a manatee. Ten years ago. When it was legible and the shirt wasn’t threadbare.”

DJ nodded. “Yes.”

Phil braced a hand on the table. “I will pay you a twenty dollar bounty per shirt if either of them were to conveniently disappear.” His mouth quirked in a half smile. “Do we have a deal?”

“Deal.” DJ popped an orange gumdrop into his mouth, savoring the spicy-sweet crunch of the sugar coating. 

“Glad to be doing business with you,” Phil said, heading for the bedroom. “Be right back. I need a shower, then I can help decorate.”

DJ nodded. “Lot of cookies,” he said.

“I can see that. Clint has poor impulse control where gingerbread is involved.”

DJ was halfway through another tray of cookies when the front door opened again. “Nat had powdered sugar, God only knows why.” Clint tossed the bag of sugar in the general direction of the counter. He paused, looking at the briefcase on the counter. “Phil home?”

 

“Yes.” DJ painted a smile on the cookie, his lower lip caught between his teeth. The frosting mixed in fascinating, difficult to predict ways. He dragged the tip of his brush across the gingerbread man’s face, watching the colors bleed into each other. “Laundry.”

“He try to bribe you to get you to steal my shirts again?” Clint asked.

DJ giggled. “Yes.” 

Clint grinned. “Asshole.” He picked up an empty bowl. “Which ones did he want, and where’s the food coloring?”

“Manatee Cash,” DJ said. Not quite right. Not quite what he had tried to say, but he wasn’t sure why. He dug the bottles of liquid color out from under a pile of used parchment paper sheets. He held them out to Clint. “Manatee and Cash.”

Clint took them. “He can have my Johnny Cash shirt over my dead body, and what the hell is manatee? What manatee?” He tossed one of the bottles up, and started juggling them with an easy, practiced grace. “I don’t-” He stopped. “Oh, wait, the shark one?”

“Shark one,” DJ agreed.

“You can have that one, the hole in the armpit’s getting pretty noticeable,” Clint said. He bounced a bottle of food coloring off of the side of his elbow, sending it spinning through the air and back into the rotation. “Like, more hole than armpit at this point. The Cash shirt is fine, though.”

DJ looked up at him. Clint paused. “It’s fine!” DJ gave him a slow, sad shake of his head, and Clint caught the food coloring. “What’s wrong with it?”

DJ thought about that. “Everything,” he said at last.

Clint pretended to throw the food coloring at him. Giggling, DJ ducked down behind the table. “True!” he crowed.

“You just want my shirts for yourself, I know the truth here,” Clint said. He grabbed a pair of scissors from the knife block and cut the powdered sugar open. “Fine. Take them both, if it’ll make him happy.” He pointed the scissors in DJ’s direction. “I know what you’re up to, though.”

“No, you don’t,” DJ said, and laughed as Clint flipped powdered sugar at him with a flick of his fingers. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Clint glanced down at the cookie he was working on. “Huh. Going a little modern art there, aren’t you buddy?”

DJ dabbed another bit of blue, and swirled it into the white glaze. “Hilma af Klint,” he explained.

“Okay. Good that that’s the theme for our cookies this year, Phil’s mom’ll be pleased.” Clint ruffled DJ’s hair, kicking up a cloud of powdered sugar and flour. “You keep doing…. Whatever that is, I’ll mix you some more orange and also see if if Jarvis can pull up the right Wikipedia page for me, ‘cause I don’t think I can even spell it.”

“Yellow, please,” DJ said.

“The appropriate references have been forwarded to your phone’s browser,” Jarvis said. “The Guggenheim pages are very informative.”

“Right,” Clint said. “Right.” He leaned back. “Phil! Do you want to decorate cookies or learn about modern art?”

There was a long pause. “Are these my only options?” Phil called back.

“We’re babysitting, so obviously.”

*

Steve looked up from his newspaper when he heard the front door open. “Hey, Deej?” he called. “Done helping Nat with the plants? Want some breakfast?”

“No.” DJ’s voice came floating down the hallway. “Gonna charge.”

“Okay.” Steve stirred his oatmeal and reached for brown sugar. “Want some juice before you change? Or just a bite of my oatmeal?”

“No.” DJ leaned into the kitchen. He was covered in dirt from the top of his head to his bare feet. “Gonna.” He paused. “Charge.”

“Right.” Steve headed for the sink, grabbing a dish towel from the drawer. “You’re a bit messier than usual. Wanna tell me what happened?”

DJ looked at his hands. “Plants were sick. Some of them. Had to wash the solar room.”

“The solarium, right.” Steve gave DJ’s face a quick once over with the damp towel, then his hands. DJ stood there, accepting it with his usual stoicism. “To make sure that the ones that were sick didn’t spread it to the others?”

DJ nodded. “Washed EVERYTHING.” He sounded dismayed.

Steve bit back a smile. “Looks like you did a good job.” He tucked a finger under DJ’s chin, tipping his head up. “I’m sure that Nat was grateful for your help.”

DJ leaned into him, exhaling. “Tired,” he said, and Steve’s chest ached.

“Yeah, I can tell.” He uncovered a patch of mostly clean skin on DJ’s forehead and leaned in to press a kiss there. “You can tell us when you need a break, you know that, right? All of us. Nat would understand.”

“Know.” DJ dragged a stool away from the counter and boosted himself onto it. “Working.”

“Yeah, you are. You’re working hard.” Steve pushed the oatmeal towards him. “Want a little?”

DJ reached for the spoon. “Have to buy presents,” he said, his voice firm.

Steve picked up his coffee. “No, you don’t,” he said, pushing DJ’s hair back. “You don’t need to buy anything, Deej. No one expects you to do that. You could make a macaroni necklace, and your dad would be happy.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” DJ said around the spoon, and Steve choked on a laugh.

“All right, maybe not, but I’d make him wear it, anyway,” Steve said. “Is that why you’re working? So you have money for presents?” DJ nodded, and Steve sighed. “We just want you to be happy, buddy. You don’t have to spend money on us.”

“Almost have everything,” DJ said. He took another bite of the oatmeal. “Almost.”

“Okay. Well, I was going to sweep the snow off of the landing pad for your father, do you want to do that?” Steve asked, his fingers tapping against the sides of his coffee cup.

DJ considered that. “Bot?”

“You’re very good with a broom when you’re a bot,” Steve agreed. “Finish your oatmeal, go charge a bit, then you can do that for me, okay?”

“Okay.” DJ smiled at him. “Don’t tell dad?”

“Macaroni necklace,” Steve said. “Just… Consider it.”

*

“Dummy, did you finish-”

Tony looked up at Dummy’s charging station. He wasn’t overly surprised to find it empty. “Dummy!”

Dummy’s head popped up on the other side of the workbench. Tony leaned a hand on the top of the bench. “What are you doing?”

Dummy disappeared, and came back up, a thick file folder in his claw. Tony reached for it, and Dummy rolled backwards, holding it out of reach. “ Is that one of mine?”

“It is Agent Coulson’s,” Jarvis said. “Dummy is assisting him with some filing.”

“Didn’t you do that yesterday?” Tony asked. Dummy nodded, his claw bouncing up and down. The papers in the folder flapped wildly with the movement. Tony sighed. “Aren’t you done yet?”

Dummy rolled sideways, and Tony walked around the bench. There was a stack of boxes piled up around Dummy’s base. Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. “And did you finish the calculations I needed you to do yesterday?”

Dummy’s support strut sank down, and he gave a pathetic little shake of his head. “Okay. Right.” Tony sighed, taking the file folder from Dummy’s claw. “Fuck it. Nothing gets done around here between Christmas and New Year’s, anyway. Can you put those away? You’ve got a diagnostic today.”

“He is asking if he can do that tomorrow,” Jarvis said.

“No, we cannot, because tomorrow, you’d suggest that we wait until Monday and then till next month, and next thing I know, it’ll be three years from now and you’ll have skipped every single diagnostic that is on the schedule,” Tony said. He pointed at the charging stations. “Come on. Phil’s civil liberties violations will still be there tomorrow.”

“Yes, but he has to feed Marie, Barbara, Rosalind, Ada, Rachel, Hypatia and Deathclaw,” Jarvis said.

Tony paused. “One of these things is not like the others, and I’m not sure I trust any of them,” Tony said. “Can I get a translation, Jarvis?”

“Thor has taken Jane and Darcy back to Asgard for a visit,” Jarvis said.

“I got that post-it note,” Tony said. “And?”

“Dummy agreed to feed Jane’s fish and Darcy’s cat,” Jarvis said. “As well as fill Thor’s birdfeeders.”

“What the hell kind of fish is Deathclaw?” Tony asked Dummy.

“That would be the cat,” Jarvis explained. “He is rather particular about his feeding rituals. Dummy has the instructions.” 

“The instructions?” Tony asked. DJ rolled over to his charging station, picked up a stack of paper, and rolled back. Tony took it from him. “Is this three pages? Single spaced?” He flipped the top page. “Double sided? What the hell is wrong with this cat? Does it have medical problems? Is it dying?”

“It is quite healthy,” Jarvis said. “Just… Particular.”

Tony gave Dummy the instructions back. “Right. Right. Where are the fish instructions?” Dummy shook the pages three times.

“Three shakes of the food can, twice a day,” Jarvis said. “However, Jane encouraged him to speak kindly to them, as they are all rather anxious when she’s not around.”

“They’re FISH,” Tony said. “They’re- No. We’re not having this discussion.” To Dummy, he added, “Okay, fine, off with you, go keep all the pets and wild feathery things alive, but I expect you back here in half an hour.”

“A conservative estimate for Deathclaw’s feeding instructions would-”

“Forty-five minutes,” Tony amended. “Better?”

“He has a greater chance of accomplishing his goals in that time frame, yes. Thank you, sir.”

“Anything to make you stop saying Deathclaw. Okay. I’ll finish the calculations. Just this once.” Dummy rolled over, leaning his support strut against Tony’s side, and Tony ran an affectionate hand over his head. “Get off, you’re getting oil all over me. Go. Clock’s ticking, gears-for-brains.”

Dummy rolled obediently away, and Tony watched him go, his eyes narrowing. “Jarvis. Why does it seem like my bot has been working non-stop for the past week?”

“No matter what his form, Dummy has always enjoyed assisting others,” Jarvis said. “That is, after all, the purpose for which he was originally intended, was it not?”

“Yes, and we both know that he has never, since I turned him on, done what he was supposed to do.” Tony watched as Dummy shoved stacks of boxes across the workshop floor into a corner, and then rolled towards the door. “He’s not usually so… Single minded. And the team doesn’t usually work this hard to find him things to do. So what the hell’s going on?”

“It is almost Christmas, sir.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, what, this is him trying to impress Santa?” he asked.

“This is him wanting to purchase presents for his family,” Jarvis said.

“What?” Tony looked up towards the ceiling. “Didn’t his deposit go through this month?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then he should have plenty of money,” Tony said. Jarvis said nothing. Tony sighed. “Jay, how much is in DJ’s account right now?” 

“Three dollars and twelve cents,” Jarvis said.

“Right.” Tony turned on his heel and headed for the other side of the workshop. “Right. So. I think it’s time that I reviewed his spending.”

“I’ll have the spreadsheets updated and waiting, sir.”

*

“Steve?”

“Hey, Jarvis.” Steve threw the refrigerator door open, bracing it with one foot as he started to unload the groceries. “You need something?”

There was a pause. “Sir appears to be having a slight crisis,” Jarvis said at last. “I suspect intervention may be necessary.”

Steve paused, the baghanging almost forgotten from one hand. “What kind of crisis?” he asked. He tossed the milk and cheese into the fridge and hip-checked it closed. The rest could wait. 

“I believe he is questioning his parenting abilities,” Jarvis said.

Steve grinned. “A DJ crisis. Gotcha.” He left his hat and the half-full bag of groceries on the counter and headed for the door. “Where is he?”

“Office.”

Tony was leaning back in his chair, one foot braced on the edge of his desk, the other thrown out in front of him. His eyes were closed, and he had a bottle of vodka pressed against his forehead. Steve slipped through the door, letting it close silently behind him. “So,” he said, his voice soft, “this is a vodka level problem.”

“I have a headache the size of Mount Everest,” Tony said, through gritted teeth. “And it’s the coldest thing in the freezer.” He opened one eye, glaring in Steve’s direction. “At this point, it’s more effective if I don’t drink it.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not drinking it,” Steve said. He walked over, slipping the bottle from Tony’s fingers and pulling it away. He set it on the desk, rubbing Tony’s forehead with his other hand. Tony grumbled at him, but leaned into the touch anyway. Steve leaned a hip on the edge of his desk, smiling down at him. “What’s wrong?”

“DJ’s broke,” Tony said. 

Steve paused. “All right,” he said at last.

“That’s all you have to say? ‘All right?’” Tony asked.

“I’m guessing there’s something going on here that’s a problem, but I don’t know what it is,” Steve said. He smoothed Tony’s hair back from his forehead. “It’s Christmas, Tony, and I know he’s been buying presents for everyone, so-”

“That is not the problem.” Tony picked up a tablet from the desk without opening his eyes. He held it out in Steve’s direction. “There’s an automatic deposit into DJ’s account on the first of the month. He’s allowed to do whatever he wants with it.”

Steve took it. “And he’s been buying things?”

“Oh, he’s been buying things,” Tony agreed. “More things than he can techinically afford.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “He’s been day trading.”

Steve stared down at the columns of numbers. “He’s been investing in the stock market?”

Tony waved him off. “Messing about in futures and options, mostly,” he said. “Which isn’t a problem.”

“Okay, that’s… That’s not the problem?”

“He does this when he’s bored, it’s fine, we have rules, as long as he doesn’t do anything that’ll get me arrested for insider trading, whatever, it’s all systems and numbers and predicting patterns, and he’s very good at all of those things. He can absorb a massive amount of information and use it to adjust his patterns.” Tony opened one eye. “Check the balance on December 1st.”

Steve looked at him, sensing a trap. Tony arched his eyebrows. Steve looked back down at the tablet, scrolling through the dates until the found the first. He stopped. Counted zeroes. Recounted. “Oh,” he said.

“Yes,” Tony said, biting off the word. “Oh.”

“That’s… A very large balance,” Steve said.

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Tony said. He pressed a hand to his eyes. “A very large balance. And a very specific balance. He was aiming for that number.” 

Steve nodded. “Why?”

“Because that’s what it cost to fulfill every single outstanding Christmas ‘Adopt-a-Family’ request that was on file with the Maria Stark Foundation,” Tony said. He dropped his hand back to his side. “He bought everything. On every. Single. Request.”

Steve stopped. “And… This is the problem,” he said.

Tony pointed at him. “I need you to wipe that pleased look off of your face,” he said.

“Do I look pleased?” Steve asked. “Because that’s not-”

“You absolutely do.” Tony rocked forward in his chair, folding his arms on the edge of the desk. “You’ve got that ‘so pleased about my socialist child’ grin on your face.”

“I’m not grinning,” Steve said, and he knew it was a lie. Tony glared at him, and Steve tried to stop smiling. “Tony…”

“Steve…” Tony said. “He can’t do this.”

Steve shrugged. “Why not?” he asked. Tony groaned, and Steve leaned in. “No. Seriously. Why not? Tony. Why can’t he?” He reached out, tipping Tony’s chin up with one hand. “He is never going to have to worry about where his next meal is coming from. He is never going to go to bed cold and hungry. He’s never going to worry about being a burden, he’s never going to have to hide being sick because he knows you can’t afford a doctor.”

Steve met Tony’s eyes. “You have protected him. You know you have. There are trusts on top of trusts that make sure he will never, ever have to worry about paying his rent or having his electricity turned off.” 

Tony sighed. “I know, but-”

“Right.” Steve straightened up. “Jarvis. Can you give me a report of everything that DJ bought last month? What he used his money for, when he was spending money on himself?”

“You’re trying to prove a point, aren’t you?” Tony asked. He pressed a hand to his eyes. “Steve-”

“All right, let’s see, what do we have here?” Steve said. He pushed himself away from the desk, pacing around the office. “Looks like he settled his tab at the Starkbucks in the lobby. Twenty-six dollars for that. He bought a-” He pulled up the transaction with a flick of his finger. “A brush pack for one of his graphics programs.” Steve looked at Tony. “He gave the artist that made the brushes five dollars. There was a twenty dollar kickstarter pledge for an adventure game, and he renewed his subscription to ‘Puzzles and Puzzling Monthly.’ That was a whole thirty six dollars for a year.”

“Is this supposed to prove something?” Tony asked the ceiling.

“He donated to PBS, which was very nice, I wondered where he got that tote bag,” Steve said. “He bought a book on…” He looked at the invoice. “‘African Civilizations Prior to Western Influence,’ and one on the rise of the Modernist movement, he’s been exploring that lately.”

“I noticed his art has stopped making any sense,” Tony agreed. “Steve-”

“He bought a Spider-Man sweatshirt,” Steve said, grinning. 

“Traitor,” Tony said, but some of the strain had gone out of his voice. 

“He bought a new sketchbook, and sure, he’s got more than a few of those. But I’ve never met an artist who’s been able to resist spending money on more sketchbooks.” Steve set the tablet down on the desk in front of Tony. “I know. I know you want to protect him. But he took the money that you gave him, that you told him he could spend on anything, and he used it to buy things for people who likely are trying to decide if they can afford to get groceries this week.”

Tony huffed out a breath. “He shouldn’t be worrying about that.”

“But he does. He found a problem. And he figured out how he could help.” Steve tried to smile. “I’ve seen those wish lists, Tony. Socks and laundry detergent and winter boots.” He took a deep breath. “He used his money for something he believed in. And next week, he’ll have another deposit to cover his expenses.” He gestured at the tablet. “What little expenses he has.”

“I’m cutting him off,” Tony said.

“No, you’re not,” Steve said. He walked around the desk, and leaned over. Tony met him halfway, the kiss a gentle brush of lips. “Or I’m going to teach him about collective bargaining and labor strikes.”

Tony grinned against his mouth. “His work is entirely substandard.”

“And yet you keep expecting him to do engineering work for you,” Steve said. “And also clean up the workshop.”

“In my defense-”

“No,” Steve said.

Laughing, Tony grabbed hold of the lapels of his sweatshirt, pulling him in. “In my defense,” he repeated, “most of the messes he cleans up, he made.”

“The hole punch was probably not the best choice,” Steve agreed. He leaned his forehead against Tony’s. “He has almost unlimited resources, Tony, and he used it to help people.” 

“He used it to buy them socks,” Tony said. “And he hates socks.”

“Bet he managed to make his budget stretch to a few more things,” Steve said, moving back far enough for Tony to stand up.

“There might’ve been a teddy bear or two on the invoices,” Tony said. He rocked forward, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Tell me this is okay.”

Steve stroked his hair. “His socialist parent is proud of him.” Tony grumbled something at him, the words muffled by Steve’s sweatshirt. Laughing, Steve kissed his head. “You take care of him. You’ll always take care of him. And when he ran out of money? He went looking for work. He’ll be fine, Tony.”

Tony nodded. “He’s completely fucked the Foundation Budget, you know that, don’t you? They think I’m the one who did it, and now there’s a surplus and it’s- It’s chaos over there, Steve. So many very upstanding members of society caught between gratitude and wanting to murder me.”

“I’m sure you’ll get a strongly worded memo about fiscal responsibility,” Steve said.

“I’ll have it framed and hung directly in front of Dummy’s charging station.” Tony slid his arms around Steve’s waist. “Let’s go.”

Steve smiled against his hair. “Go where?”

“Bed.” Tony slipped a hand under the waistband of Steve’s jeans.

“It’s-” Steve glanced at his watch. “It’s four thirty, Tony.”

“I’m aware.” Tony’s head tipped up, his mouth nuzzling at the side of Steve’s neck. “But the bots are in diagnostic for the rest of the day, Dummy included, the terror triplets are at SHIELD, overthrowing something or someone just to keep their skills sharp, Bruce is at a holiday party down at Empire University and Thor’s fanclub’s in Asgard until Christmas eve.”

He exhaled, his breath warm against Steve’s skin, and Steve shuddered. “And you’ve been spending more and more time wandering around Brooklyn in the classic ‘no one would ever guess I’m Captain America’ disguise of sunglasses, hat and hoodie.”

Steve’s mouth opened. Closed. “I was getting groceries,” he said.

“We have a service, Steve. They bring us groceries. There’s literally no reason to go out for a gallon of milk. Let alone to do it three times in a week.” Tony pulled back, just far enough to meet Steve’s eyes. “Or was it four?”

Steve took a deep breath. “We drink a lot of milk,” he said.

“Not that much.” Tony cupped his chin in one hand, his thumb sweeping across the plane of Steve’s cheek. “You okay?”

Steve turned his face, pressing a kiss to Tony’s palm. “Holidays are hard,” he admitted. “But yes. I’m okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got Dummy. I’ve got the, well, for lack of a better term, the family.”

“Bite your tongue,” Tony said, and Steve laughed. “C’mon. Upstairs. Bed.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s something else you should be doing right now,” Steve said.

“Yeah, and it’s you.” Steve started to laugh, and Tony caught the front of his shirt in one hand, pulling him towards the door. “Let’s go. My safeword is ‘budget.’”

“You’re such a fake,” Steve said, letting himself be towed. “Rhodey says-”

“Oh, nothing good starts with those words.”

“Rhodey said he saw you bet half a million on a single spin of a roulette wheel.”

“Yes, but that was when I thought I was going to die alone, young and beautiful, and was in an all fired rush to spend it all before my inevitable demise,” Tony pointed out. “Now I have a child to provide for. A wide variety of superheroes to take care of. I have a very spendthrift lover. My milk expenditures alone are through the roof.”

“I’ll drink the milk,” Steve said.

“This may shock you, Steven, but I do not give a damn about the milk.” Tony pulled him into the elevator and immediately maneuvered him up against the wall. Steve tugged him close, leaning in for a kiss. “I love you.”

Steve smiled against his mouth. “Love you, too.” 

*

“Merry Christmas, sir.”

Tony groaned, trying to push his head further under his pillow. “No.” Behind him, he heard Steve start to laugh, and he aimed an elbow in that general direction. 

Steve caught his arm, dragging him into the warm shelter of his body. “Merry Christmas, Jarvis,” he said, capping it off with a yawn. “What time is it?”

“Seven thirty,” Jarvis said, and Tony groaned again, even more heartfelt this time. “Indeed, sir.”

“Why in the name of all that’s holy am I awake?” Tony asked. Steve was still laughing, his face buried in the back of Tony’s shoulder. Tony reached back, trying to pat his hair with a clumsy hand. “I do not want to be awake.”

“Understandable, sir, but your agreement with DJ was that eight am was an acceptable time for presents. As such, he has been sitting beside the tree very patiently for the past two hours.”

“Oh, God,” Tony said. “Eight. I said- I said EIGHT.”

“To open presents, and per your agreement, he has not touched a single one,” Jarvis said. “You neglected to instruct him to remain in his bed until such time.”

Tony pressed both hands to his face. “How much of parenting, percentage wise, is regretting the loopholes that your child finds in what you tell him to do?”

“I’d say about sixty percent,” Steve said. “Maybe seventy.”

“I’d say that’s extremely conservative,” Tony said. 

“It’s outweighed by that secret sense of pride you feel when your child outsmarts you.” Steve pressed a kiss to the back of Tony’s shoulder.

“You might be proud, I’m not-so-secretly terrified,” Tony said. He rolled halfway over so he could squint at Steve. “You’re usually up by now.”

Steve shrugged. “I was awake. Didn’t much feel like getting out of bed, to be honest.” He gave Tony’s ass a squeeze. “But we should probably get dressed before eight.”

“I can sleep for another twenty minutes and still manage sweatpants,” Tony said.

“Or, and this is just a thought, you could get up now and we can take a shower,” Steve offered.

Tony considered that. “Together?”

“I could be persuaded.” Tony could hear the laughter in his voice, and it was remarkable how soothing that was. 

“Fine,” Tony said. He pushed himself upright. “Jarvis, please inform the parasites that live in my tower that their presence is expected, otherwise, they will disappoint the child, and I will have no choice but to murder them.”

“They have all been notified,” Jarvis said. “I do not believe murder will be necessary.”

“Maybe not, but I’m prepared,” Tony said, even as Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist, dragging him out of bed. “You’re doing nothing but moving yourself up on the murder list, Rogers.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Steve kissed the back of his neck. “Shower. Pants. Happy child.”

“Preferably in that order,” Tony agreed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Exactly at eight, washed, dried and dressed, Tony walked into the shared living room, Steve right behind him. “We’re eating breakfast before presents,” he announced.

DJ, half hidden behind a massive pile of brightly colored boxes, groaned. “No,” he said, his narrowed eyes just barely visible over a huge bow.

“Yes!” Tony said, throwing his hands in the air. “All of this can still be returned.”

“No, it can’t,” Steve said. He nudged Tony towards the couch. “Merry Christmas, DJ.”

“Christmas,” DJ agreed. He disappeared under the tree, coming up with an envelope and a big box wrapped in red and gold metallic paper. He handed the envelope to Steve, who took it with a smile and pressed a kiss to his head. “Christmas!”

“Christmas,” Tony agreed as DJ gave him the box. “Oh, is this for me? Excellent. I approve of your color choices. Very nice. Still not distracting me from breakfast. We’re going to have breakfast.”

“I have a French Toast Casserole in the oven,” Phil said from the doorway. He was carrying an insulated coffee pot. Behind him, Clint balanced stacks of tea cups on a tray. “Clint has monkey bread.”

“They’re more similar than you might think,” Clint said. He held up his tray with all the aplomb of a waiter in a French cafe. “Cocoa, Deej?”

“Yes!” DJ dragged a big box over to the couch, pushing it between them as Phil started pouring cocoa.

“Thank you,” he said, handing DJ a cup. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

“So, breakfast?” Tony asked, as Clint gave him a cup of cocoa.

“Half an hour,” Clint said. Tony made a face. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll survive.”

“All will be well.” Thor walked in, Darcy draped over his back. She was snoring, ever so quietly, her arms dangling over Thor’s shoulders to lay against his chest. She was dressed in what looked like a fuzzy bunny onesie. Thor grinned at them. “I have sausage and cheese, and fine bread, straight from my father’s stores.”

“And I made banana bread,” Jane said, carrying a platter in each hand. “Because I forgot about the bananas when I we, you know, went to Asgard.” She was wearing a pair of red and purple plaid pajama pants and what appeared to be one of Thor’s sweatshirts, the arms rolled up so they didn’t trail over her hands.

“Let me get that,” Steve said, taking the wooden platter of cheese and meat from her. Tony, for his part, put a foot on a stack of books that were taking up valuable real estate on the table, and shoved them to the floor. Steve looked at him. “Helpful.”

“It’s my middle name,” Tony agreed. 

“Sorry, I’m late, sorry, was- I was cutting fruit,” Bruce said, hustling in, his arms wrapped around a large plastic bowl. “The speaking committee gave me a fruit basket. For, well, for speaking.”

“And not smashing?” Tony asked, as the food was set out on the table. 

“And not smashing,” Bruce agreed. His pajamas had seen better days, the blue fabric ragged on the cuffs and the shirt missing a button. But he smiled at DJ when a blue and silver box was pressed into his hands. “This for me? Thank you.”

“Welcome!” DJ said. He waited until Thor tipped Darcy gently into an empty chair before he placed a small, flat box in her lap. “For you,” he said, holding a palm-sized box to Thor.

“Merry Christmas, small one,” Thor said, scooping him up. “Are you eager for your gifts? I have one for you, straight from my mother’s hands to yours.”

“For you,” DJ repeated, tapping Thor on the head with the box. Laughing, Thor put him down and took it.

“And as soon as Romanov decides to get her ass in gear, we can get started,” Tony said, reaching for a piece of banana bread.

“I was here before you.”

Tony choked on something that might’ve been a shriek from a lesser man. He twisted around in his seat to find Natasha smiling down at him. “Can we not do this?” he asked. “For one day, out of respect for the sanctity of the season, can you not be insanely creepy?”

Natasha, one hip braced on the back of the couch, smiled down at her fingernails. “No,” she said. “It’s my Christmas gift to myself.”

“Go sit with the other creepy people,” Tony told her.

Laughing, she walked around the couch and settled down on the floor next to Clint’s legs. DJ waited for her to settle down, the silk of her silver pajamas rustling as she tucked her feet under her, before he pushed a large box over next to her. She reached out, smoothing his hair back with gentle hand. “Thank you,” she said.

“Good, are we all here?” Tony asked, as everyone settled down. “Roll call, Cap, do we have the whole team? Or did you adopt someone else when I was at the office yesterday?”

“I considered it, but no, this is everyone.” Steve wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulders. “You want to open a few presents before breakfast, Deej?”

“No,” Deej said. He nudged Jane’s box with one foot. “Open presents.”

“We can wait,” Tony said. DJ scowled at him, and Tony bit his lip to keep from smiling. “Or we could open our presents now.” 

“Yes,” DJ said, very firm about that.

“Who’s going first?” Steve asked.

“Where am I and how did I get here?” Darcy mumbled. She peered out at them from under one floppy bunny ear. “Who-” Jane held her glasses up in front of her face, and she took them. “What-”

“It’s Christmas, DJ got you a gift, it’s in your lap, you should open it,” Jane said.

Darcy looked down. “Aw, thanks, botboy.” she picked up the box, giving it a little shake. “Is it… A WEAPON?”

“No,” everyone in the room chorused, as DJ muffled his giggles behind his hands.

“Spoilsports, all of you.” Yawning, Darcy tore into the wrapping paper. She held up the box, which was emblazoned with a cartoon picture of a cat sitting on top of a pile of boxes. “Aw, yeah! It’s a subscription to cat hat of the month club!”

“Cat hats,” Tony said, sipping his cocoa. “Are we… Talking about hats with, you know, cat ears?”

“No, we’re talking about hats for my cat!” she said, grinning at him over the top of the box. “I get bonus fruit hats for this month!”

“And this is… A good gift,” Tony said, his voice flat.

“This is the BEST gift,” she corrected. She grinned at DJ. “Do you follow Deathclaw’s Instagram?”

“Yes,” DJ said. 

“Cool, I’ll tag you on the pics,” she said, settling back in her chair, her arms wrapped around the box. “Who’s next?”

“Now that her highness has broken the ice, we’re doing this alphabetically,” Tony declared. “Otherwise, it’ll be an hour of ‘you go,’ ‘no, you go,’ and I want to eat sometime today.” He took a sip of his cocoa and pointed at Bruce. “Banner. You’re up.”

Bruce blinked at him. “Are we going by first name or-”

“You’re next no matter what we go by, but first name,” Tony said. “Less talking, more ripping.”

“Yeah, you’re ruining Christmas for everyone,” Clint said, one leg thrown over the side of the couch. He had his box balanced on his stomach. “Get on with it, or I’m skipping you.”

“This is more stressful than presents should be,” Bruce said, tugging the paper apart. A few moments later, he pulled a clock out of the box. The numbers on the front had been replaced by elements from the periodic table, the notations bright and cartoonish. There was a moon/sun icon inset on one side, to indicate AM and PM. Bruce grinned down at it. “This is great, thanks.”

“Press the button.” DJ tucked his legs up against his chest, bracing his chin on his knees. There was an impish grin on his face that Tony wasn’t sure he trusted.

“The- Oh.” Bruce turned it over. “There’s a button labeled, ‘what time is it?’” he said. “And-” He pressed it.

“TIME FOR SCIENCE!” the clock said, in a tone just under a shriek. Bruce pressed it again. “TIME FOR SCIENCE!”

“Oh my god,” Darcy said, her voice reverent. “I want one.”

“No,” everyone said at once.

Bruce was laughing, his shoulder shaking as he tried to choke back the sound. “That’s… That’s-”

DJ reached out, moving the hands on the clock until it indicated one am. “Button,” he said, pointing.

Bruce pushed it. “ENOUGH SCIENCE GO TO BED,” the clock screamed at him, and Bruce lost it. Laughing so hard that he could barely sit upright, he hugged the clock to his chest, struggling to breath between bursts of giggles. 

He looked up, his face flushed. “It’s perfect,” he managed, and DJ grinned at him. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” DJ said. He reached for the button, and Bruce held the clock out of reach. 

“Clint, you’re up,” he said. And to DJ, “No. It’s mine now. You gave it to me.”

“I regret it,” DJ said.

“You should,” Bruce told him with a smile. “Clint!’

“Fine, fine, I’ve given up trying to guess it,” Clint said. “This is for me and Phil, huh?”: DJ nodded. “Okay. Want to help, Phil?”

“I think you’ve got this,” Phil said, and Clint stuck the bow on his head. Phil sighed. “It’s not my color.”

“Tough,” Clint said. He pulled the lid off of the box, revealing a pile of tissue paper. “This… This is fancier than we deserve, kiddo.” He pushed it aside, and went still. “Huh. That looks…” He looked at Phil, who leaned over his shoulder.

“Familiar,” Phil said. He reached into the box. “Is this…”

“Did you make a quilt?” Clint said, helping Phil pull it out. “Did you make a quilt out of the t-shirts that Phil told you to steal?”

Phil went still. “I didn’t tell you him to-”

“Lies do not become you,” Clint said to Phil, with a grin. “You bribed the kid to make my t-shirts disappear.”

“And instead of doing that, he took my money and made the shirts I was hoping to never see again into something that’s going to live on my couch forever,” Phil said.

“Yeah. This is the best Christmas present ever,” Clint said. He shook the quilt out, his fingers tracing over the different t-shirts that had been used to make it. He smiled at DJ. “How did you- Did you do this?”

“Cut the squares, and pieced it together. Agent Collins sewed it,” DJ said. “She brought her serger. It is awesome.”

“Agent Nanny strikes again,” Tony said. He reached for the cocoa. “Do we owe her a bonus for what I’m sure was hours of trying to sew t-shirt fabric in a straight line?”

“I paid,” DJ said. “Extra warm.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Clint leaned back, the quilt spread out over his legs. “Say thank you, Phil.”

“I will never forgive you for this,” Phil said, but he was smiling. 

DJ grinned at him. “You like it.”

“I love it,” he agreed. “Collins is on my list, though.”

“If you mess with our only reliable childcare, you’re going to be on my list,” Tony said. “Foster. I need a distraction here.”

Darcy had procured a blanket from somewhere and was now curled into a comfortable looking fabric burrito. “Let’s see it, Jane. What’d you get?”

Jane, sitting cross-legged beside the tree, ripped the paper off of her present with a great deal of enthusiasm. “Oh!”

Thor glanced at her, one eyebrow arched. “What is it?” he asked. “A toy?”

She held up the box. “A mini-console!” she said, her voice gleeful. “Thank you, DJ!”

Thor nodded. “And that is?”

“It’s like, it’s-” She turned it over, nearly vibrating in place. “When I was a kid, I had a Super Nintendo, but it was just the system, and all the games were on separate cartridges, and this is all the games I used to play, but on one machine, all ready to go. Know what this means?” She shoved it at him, her expression slightly manic. “I. Am going. To kick. Your ASS.”

“She is,” Darcy said, her voice dire. “She is… She is brutal at Mario Kart. It is unfortunate.”

“I shall meet you in honorable combat,” Thor said.

“There is NOTHING honorable about Mario Kart,” she said. “I’m bringing the pain.”

“Party at Jane’s place,” Clint said.

“Seconded,” Natasha said with a smile. DJ looked at her.

“Your turn,” he said, and she dragged her box over, her fingernails finding a seam in the paper and slicing through the tape. She peeled it away as DJ bounced up and down, so eager Tony could tell that it was all he could manage not to help her.

“Is this-” She started to laugh. “Is this a crate of this year’s chia pets?”

“Yes!” DJ said. “All.”

“All of them?” she asked. He nodded, and she leaned over, kissing his forehead. “This was a mistake. Now we’ll have to rearrange the entire solarium again.”

 

“Worth it,” DJ said.

Clint was peering over Nat’s shoulder. “I want the sheep,” he said.

“Get your own, Barton.” She opened up the packing box, pulling out chia pet after chia pet. “Some of these are…”

“Horrifying?” Phil asked.

“AND amazing,” Jane said. 

“Both,” Natasha agreed. “Thank you, DJ.”

DJ nodded. “Water them.”

“I will, and if I can’t, I’m sure you will.” She handed him a box that apparently contained a curled up pottery kitten. “I have faith.” She looked up. “Rogers, you’re next?”

Steve set his cocoa aside and reached for the envelope DJ had given him. “I like mine,” he said. “No wrapping paper to clean up, and-” He pulled the card out of the envelope, his eyes scanning over it, and he abruptly fell silent.

Over the rim of his cup, Tony watched as Steve’s face twisted into an expression he couldn’t quite understand. He bumped his knee against Steve’s. “Hey. You okay?”

“What?” Steve looked up. “Oh. Yes.” He cleared his throat, once, and then again, before he forced the next words out. “The Friends of the Brooklyn Public Library,” he read, “would like to thank you for your gift of a year long membership to the Brooklyn Children’s Museum. This membership will be available to borrow on a rotating basis to anyone with a valid New York Library Card, and will be listed in the catalog as the James B. Barnes Memorial Membership.”

Steve stopped, his mouth working. After a moment, he took a deep breath, and continued, his voice shaking. “The Brooklyn Children’s Museum was chartered in 1899, and for more than a hundred years has served to educate, entertain and enlighten the children of the borough of Brooklyn. Now, more than ever, the museum remains dedicated to offering a safe and welcoming space for all children who find their way to its doors.”

DJ leaned his chin into his knees. “Thought maybe the zoo. But this seemed better.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it-” He swallowed, and looked up, and there were tears in his eyes. “Yes. This is perfect.”

DJ reached behind him. “Also a cookie.” He held up a gift wrapped disk the size of a frisbee. 

“Also a cookie!” Steve said, grinning at him. “I think that officially makes it the best Christmas.” He set the card aside and held out his hands. “Can I have a hug, please?”

DJ bounced up, throwing himself into Steve’s arms. Steve scooped him up, hugging him close. His face was tight, his eyes squeezed shut. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” DJ said. When Steve let him go, he settled down between Steve and Tony on the couch. “Thor?”

Thor glanced at Steve, who was rubbing his eyes with the heel of one hand. “I do not know if I’m prepared for this gift,” he said to DJ. But he opened his box anyway, pulling out a braided loop of wire. He grinned. “I recognize your skills in this.”

“Friendship bracelet,” Darcy said. “I taught him.”

“My wire,” DJ said. He grinned. “From when I got fixed.”

Thor held it up. “A bit of you, so carefully woven.” He slipped it over his hand, holding it up. “A perfect fit. Thank you, my small friend.”

“Welcome!” DJ leaned against Tony’s side. “Open,” he said.

“I don’t want to,” Tony said. “As soon as I open this box, Christmas is over forever. There will be no more Christmas.”

“Okay,” DJ said.

“Ever,” Tony told him.

“Tony,” Steve said.

“Captain America can’t save Christmas,” Tony said. “He thinks he can. But he’s helpless in the face of the many challenges facing us in this difficult-”

DJ rolled his eyes. “Open gift,” he said, poking it.

Laughing, Tony ripped the paper free of the box. “Right,” he said. “Let’s see, what do we have here?” He reached into the nest of tissue paper and pulled out a coffee mug. “‘I’d delegate,’” he read out loud, “‘but the economy would collapse.’” He grinned. “Well, that’s rude.”

“Another,” DJ said, and Tony reached into the box again.

This time, he held up a coffee mug that said, ‘You don’t have to be crazy to work here, but you will be soon enough.’ “It’s true, but but I think that HR would frown on me adapting it as our new recruitment strategy.

“Another,” DJ said, his head on Tony’s shoulder.

Laughing, Tony dug through the tissue to find a third coffee cup. “‘I only date superheroes,’” he read. “Look, buddy, it’s only the one. One superhero.”

“In his defense, ‘I only date Captain America’ is kind of a niche item,” Steve said.

“In terms of pure wish fulfillment, no. It is not,” Tony told him. “It really is not.”

DJ leaned his chin on Tony’s arm. “One more.”

“Just one? Well, then, Christmas is over, and-”

Steve reached past him, pulling the last mug out of the box. “‘Believe in Captain America,’” he said, with a grin. “‘But Bet On Iron Man.’”

Tony took it from him, holding it up in front of him. “We have a new family motto,” he said, his chest aching. He wrapped and arm around DJ, dragging him in for a hug. “Did you design these?” DJ looked at him, his dark eyes dancing, but he put his head down on Tony’s shoulder without saying a word. “Right.” Tony ruffled his hair. “Right.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “Know what time it is?”

“Monkey bread,” DJ said, his voice hopeful.

“No, it’s-” Tony pressed a hand to his face as Steve started to laugh. “It’s time for you to open your presents, Deej.”

DJ blinked at him. “Monkey bread?”

Clint looked at his watch. “Should be done,” he agreed. “Breakfast, then?”

DJ threw his hands in the air. “MONKEY BREAD!”

“We are not eating breakfast until the child opens something,” Tony said, his voice dire. “I wrapped things! There are- I bought things without looking at a pre-prepared list, and I wrapped them. Myself!”

“And you still lose out to canned dough, chopped into chunks, and thrown into the oven covered in cinnamon sugar,” Clint said. He patted Tony on the shoulder as he walked behind the couch. “How much did you spend, again?”

“I had a budget,” Tony said. “And I ignored it.”

“It’s the American way,” Bruce said. He pushed himself to his feet. “Need me to help?”

“We should bring it in here,” Darcy said.

“Because you don’t want to leave?” Natasha asked her.

“Because I don’t want to leave,” Darcy agreed.

As everyone got to their feet, Tony clung stubbornly to his seat. “No. I’m not moving until DJ opens at least one-” There was a rattle, and something slipped over his head. Tony looked down. “Is this… Pasta?” he asked. “Is this spray painted ziti on a ribbon?”

“Yes,” DJ said. 

Tony poked it with one finger. “Why?”

DJ kissed him on the cheek. “Merry Christmas.”


End file.
